


inbetween and so forth

by sparrowlingflight



Category: ONEWE (Band)
Genre: Canon, Slice of Life, Snippets, some wevember prompts in here, the way this is going i'm going to just label this one for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:08:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26563372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrowlingflight/pseuds/sparrowlingflight
Summary: ONEWE snippets - a place for shorter pieces for a wonderful group with a special place in my heart
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	1. kanghyun/yonghoon, "what're you reading?", gen, canon

**Author's Note:**

> i just love onewe so much guys

When Yonghoon walks out of the shower, Hyungu is sitting on his bed reading, leaning back against a couple of pillows and plushies. Pingu's eyes stare back at him from over Hyungu's shoulder, where Hyungu is using the plushie as a neck rest against the headrest of his bunk.

"Scoot over." Hyungu looks up at him, appalled, which,  _ rude _ . Yonghoon thinks, not for the first time, that his band members are lucky that they're so cute, because Confucius did  _ not _ die for such blatant disrespect. 

"Come on~," Long past the point of being embarrassed at acting so childishly in front of the kids, Yonghoon's accepted and settled into the comfortable familiarity between reliance and dependency that the band's built over hours in practice rooms, laughing and teasing the minutes away between stages and studios.

"I'm tired, I want cuddles~"

"You're so weird," is what Hyungu mutters under his breath but he does scoot closer to the wall, opening up space for Yonghoon to lie down in and stretch his legs out him, so Yonghoon takes the win.

He doesn't even complain when Yonghoon snakes an arm around his waist and buries his face in his shoulder, just muttering a warning not to jostle him too much. Yonghoon closes his eyes for a moment, lets the pull and push of a long day wash over and out of him, finding solace in the comfort of Hyungu's mild body heat and the clean scent of his body wash. It reminds him of a fancy spa, herbal and soothing all at once.

When he opens his eyes, Hyungu's engrossed in his book. Yonghoon tucks his chin on his shoulder, curiously watching how his eyes move across the page, riveted, and how Hyungu sometimes unconsciously mouths certain words and phrases out loud, as if testing how they pool and flow together in his own voice.

"What're you reading?"

It takes a beat for his words to register to Hyungu, who blinks, looking at him out of the side of his eye.

Yonghoon sticks his lower lip out, thinking. "It's not the Little Prince-" He's seen that book often enough in Hyungu's hands to recognize it.

"You know I have more books than the Little Prince-" What Hyungu doesn't mention is how often Yonghoon's caught sight of his copy in the studio, tabbed pages and scribbled notes being pulled over, pored over, more often than not. It's like when he was writing Regulus.

It's been very exciting for the band to speculate on the nature of the book's inclusion in Hyungu's little space but he's shy to provide details. Yonghoon can hardly wait for the day Hyungu lands an email in their email boxes, minimally titled, with a fully fledged masterpiece that has Yonghoon wanting to run up and down the streets, playing it for the world to hear. At least, that's what he's come to expect from Hyungu's work.

Hyungu shifts a little under Yonghoon's cheek, rubs his nose.

"It's called _ All The Light We Cannot See _ ..."

Yonghoon hums, approving. "Sounds like a lyric."

"Right? Anyway...it's a little sad, I think."

"Almost all the books you read are." Or, sad, in the way life and its choices, the intricacies of grey moralities are sad and lonely, stark in their finality and consequence. Hyungu doesn't read a lot of books with a happy ending, not the ones Yonghoon dreams up in his wildest fantasies.

"No, listen..." Listening to Hyungu read aloud is deeply, bone-deep, comforting, like for once Yonghoon can pretend that he has an insight to the cogs and wheels that make up the machinations of his mind, pretend to gleam meaning from the dips and turns of his soft voice.

Hyungu keeps all his thoughts and wishes close to his heart and sometimes Yonghoon just can't help but marvel at the depth to his round, overly large eyes that sit in a face that seems somehow too small to hold them.

Yonghoon drifts off, his grip in Hyungu's shirt loosening in for the embrace sleep bestows upon him, as Hyungu explains that, to touch something, is to love it. 


	2. cya-centric, canon, gen, "cya, an artist"

“Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.” -Thomas Merton

\----

Giwook's always had a strong idea of what he  _ likes _ .

This manifests in a couple of ways; his teachers and parents come to say that he has a 'stubborn streak', which in middle school gets reworded on his report cards to 'a strong sense of independence'.

He gets a sort of reputation among his cousins for being particular about his food; after a while, his sister will say "That's just Giwook," and that's that. Giwook doesn't think there's anything wrong with this; he likes what he likes and, if he can, he'll do his best to get to what he likes.

In a sense, the urge to create comes naturally to him.

His father brings home a packet of markers and a blank pad of paper for him and his sister to share. By the end of the evening, Giwook's practically commandeered both items, lying on his stomach in front of the TV and relishing in the colours, the feel of the markers against the paper, the sharp scent of inks that permeates the room. He's in a monster phase at that time and there's a Godzilla coming to life under his hands, at least enough for his sister to recognise it, when he pesters her to guess what he's drawing.

It takes a while for his mother to convince him to go to sleep, Giwook stubbornly trying to not sleep and spend more time drawing. Godzilla's missing spines, and that's just pathetic for a monster.

"Tomorrow," his sister finally says firmly, taking paper and pens away at last. "Tomorrow you can do more drawing."

Dreams are little more vivid that night, edged with excitement and anticipation, and the morning can't come soon enough.

\---

Dinosaurs and monsters adorn the fridge for a while, and then come the robots, armoured in all sorts of fantastical weaponry, the kitchen bearing witness to Giwook's changing interests throughout his childhood, slowly petering off as he gets older and a little self conscious about displaying his art, preferring to store them in files and surplus school notebooks.

For a while, all Giwook wants to draw are stars; galaxies pencilled alongside his math homework, shooting stars sketched out on loose sheets of paper. He leaves pens in his pockets, and his mom yells at him (with all the love in her heart) when he forgets to take them out one day and the laundry comes out all tinted in a pale lilac colour.

He holds onto the formerly-blue jeans that comes out with it and wears them to the next class at the music academy, a little buzz of happiness in his skin, a little spring in his step as he makes his way on the train. The bump of his bass on his back is a little less burdensome for some reason. 

By now, he's sort of anticipated the raised eyebrows and not-quite whispers that spring up as he walks by and has fixed a polite smile in place, just friendly enough to disarm any would-be hostile words and cool enough to deter conversation.

It doesn't always work but on that day, thankfully, Giwook makes it to his class without incident. The nice receptionist at the academy even compliments him on his outfit, making the day that much sweeter.

"Hey," Harin, one of other students closer in age to Giwook slides into his seat just before their teacher stands to start the lesson. "Nice pants."

Giwook beams.

\---

"What do you think?"

Dongmyeong tilts his head so that the light catches on the shimmery gold lining the corners of his eyes. Giwook's into the way it sets off the reddish tones on the inner part of his eyes and tells him so, which has Dongju nodding in agreement, more preoccupied with the balance of eyeliner on the wings taking flight at the edge of his right eye. 

Overhead, the fan in the twins' room is spinning lazily, its hum buzzing in the background of the airy voice coming from the twins' computer. Giwook's not exactly sure who is singing; they'd started on an old school Big Bang song and let the whims of the youtube algorithms take the reins from there. Given the eclectic tastes of the computer's owners, it's difficult to predict where they've ended up.

When the nail on his index finger is sufficiently coated in white polish, Giwook waves his hand to dry the paint, a gesture that he think's he's gotten from dramas, copied from observing his sister. The next colour is a toss up between a turquoise or a deeper shade of blue, reminiscent of a starry sky. Giwook's not sure what he's going for but the turquoise is reminding him of the beach in summer, a more carefree time when he was younger and had less pressing worries about his future. The ocean is warm and refreshing in his memories.

Giwook blows on his painted nail to quicken the drying process and thinks he might draw a wave on his nail with a sharpie.

\----

In Giwook's mind, Yonghoon emits a kind of sparkly light, something in a warm-coloured tone. Maybe a red, or a golden-toned yellow. The colours of a campfire smouldering at night, comforting and welcoming.

"It sounds good!" Yonghoon pinches his cheek, just because. "It sounds  _ really _ good!"

"You say that about everything," Giwook mutters, tugging out of arm's reach but secretly, the words shine in his chest.

Yonghoon sits up straight at that, waving his hand to make a point. "No, no, no, I'm serious, I think it sounds really fresh, your voice with Geonhak's-  _ what do you mean I say that about everything, I am a very objective critic _ \- anyway, I think we should talk to the producers about the mix on the synths-"

Here, Yonghoon clicks on a couple of the tracks, pointing at his computer screen and gesturing in big excited movements and for a moment Giwook just kind of watches him, tingly and happy that he's happy, his overgrown hyung who smiles with his whole heart.

"Cya, are you listening to me? Ya, hey, come on, at least  _ pretend _ to have some respect for me-"

\-----

Sometimes the words just don't come out.

His throat is dry and his eyes ache from staring at the empty pages, the screens blinking back at him and  _ the words just won't come out _ .

There's a riff echoing around the edges of his brain and a couple words scribbled in a mind map-esque fashion to paper but nothing's clicking, something's missing and there's an awful, hollow, gnawing feeling in his chest at being unable to solidify it, to quantify the missing piece.

Giwook scrubs his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms in and deliriously watching the stars and fireworks that spark up behind his eyes.  _ At least there's the universe in his blood to escape too _ .

"'Wookie?" Startled, Giwook blinks back the tears that sprang up under the pressure of his hands, letting them fall to see Hyungu's and Harin's mildly worried faces. The concern in their eyes just twists the hollow in his chest, makes it crawl up his throat, to see them take in the pathetic state of his workspace.

"Hey, we're going to head home now," Hyungu says gently, as Harin places a warm hand on his shoulder. "Shall we go together?"

To Giwook's dismay, his throat's blocked. It takes visible effort, in which time, Harin and Hyungu's eyes grow clearly more worried, then openly worried as he ekes out "...nothing's working..." and bursts into tears.

_ It's just a song, just one stupid song _ , with nothing but a skeleton of a melody Dongmyeong had been humming, when they'd been riffing together in the elevator, but debut's coming and _ there's suddenly so much pressure _ and Giwook cries and cries it out on Harin's shoulder and Hyungu's soothing words and awkward, frantic pets, embarrassed and somehow terribly sad but underneath it all, so, so grateful.

\---

When a song's been published on the music sites, Giwook obsessively refreshes the page, watches the comments trickle in, the number of hearts rise steady and slow. It never gets old, and he hopes that when he's old and grey, he'll still find it as fascinating as he does now.

_ I love this song _

_ Beautiful! _

_ ONEWE's the best _

_ Wow, as expected from ONEWE~ _

_ Believe and listen to ONEWE~ _

If there was a way to send a hug through the internet, Giwook wishes that one mad scientist would tell the world. Sometimes the affection in his chest builds up so much he just has to go and share it.

Hyungu's nearby, lying on the floor in front of the little fan in the room. With his closed eyes, he looks peaceful. Happiness is still tingling in Giwook's skin, mind full of praise from strangers, as he lies down next to Hyungu and scoots a little closer so that their elbows knock together, but he takes a moment to study the profile next to him.

He and Dongmyeong had long suspected it but somehow he'd only felt that the band had only recently been able to confirm; Hyungu would make the prettiest rose; each day, slowly following the sun to warm his petals. When he tells Hyungu so, his eyes pop open to look suspiciously at him.

"You've been hanging out with Yonghoon too much..." Giwook giggles, in turn pulling a wry smile out of Hyungu, who closes his eyes again in face of the breeze the fan sends their way.

It's been a hot summer, and hopefully soon, Harin and Yonghoon will come crashing through the front door with the watermelon they'd set out to buy, come hell or high water, and Dongmyeong will start yelling at them for disturbing his show, and Hyungu and he will have to leave the peaceful cocoon of his room to calm things down, but for now, for a moment, contentedness seeps into Giwook's being. 


	3. wevember day 2: shampoo, ot5, gen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for mildly toxic interfering well meaning but not really aunty behaviour. 
> 
> credit for wevember prompt goes to @keonfeet and @ccccoffeebreak on twitter

'How about this one?'

The little corner mart on the street leading to their dorm is somehow always a little busy; even at 3 am in the morning there's a line of three people already at the counter, a mix of the drunk sobering up with convenience food, the late workers looking for relief in alcohol and some unlucky early birds, getting ready for the long day ahead with supplies of snacks and energy drinks.

Giwook presses the bottle of shampoo a little more insistently into Dongmyeong's arm, demanding his attention. 'Hmm?'

"This one? It smells like oranges."

The shampoo situation at the dorm was getting a little out of hand; they were down to the last bottle; Hyungu's bottle. Frankly, it was a little ridiculous; they'd all had opportunities to replenish their toiletries but somehow they'd procrastinated like professional procrastinators, and all found excuses to avoid doing so and now Hyungu was threatening to lock all of them out of the dorm if they didn't come back with their own shampoo. Dongmyeong knew he was serious.

Hence, their little pit stop after finishing work (late, as always). If Dongmyeong cared to stretch his toes, he'd probably be able to see Harin and Yonghoon a couple of aisles away, distracted looking at food.

As it is, he can hear them arguing about cheese. Mmmmmm, cheese.

Wait, no.

Dongmyeong refocuses on the increasingly put out looking Giwook in front of him. "Sorry, you were saying?"

Giwook just sighs, a little defeated. It's never a good feeling to have exasperated the boundless wells of patience Giwook has; that's when Dongmyeong knows someone's being a _really_ big asshole. 

He pulls the bottle out of Giwook's fingers, pops the cap to take a sniff, humming in approval at the refreshing citrus, flowery scent; an instant wake up call.

"This is good....what about that one?" There's a yellow bottle that's caught his eye, with magnolias and aloe plants. He makes to reach for it.

Behind them, there's a little cough of faux concern; Dongmyeong's heard plenty of them to know. Reminding himself to take a deep breath is second nature at this point.

Putting on his sweetest smile (under his mask, sure, but the act of smiling was supposed to release endorphins automatically, he'd read somewhere) Dongmyeong swivels smartly, to face the surely well-meaning-but-not-really aunty. Permed hair and red jacket, clutching a fancy looking purse.

Swell. Perfect. Dongmyeong waits, trying to reassure Giwook with a little nudge in his side. He's holding the bottle of orange-scented shampoo gingerly, like this lady's caught them shoplifting.

"Boys, the shampoo for men is over there," She helpfully points to the opposite side of the aisle, smiling at them like they'd somehow missed it. It's been behind them the whole time. Her smile shows all her teeth. "This is the _women's_ section."

"Shampoo don't have genders," Dongmyeong has to smother a smile at Giwook's mumbling but quickly makes a sound of realisation, just the right shade of _sheepish_ that the lady relaxes her squared up shoulders.

"We're actually shopping for our older sister; she's very picky," The lady makes an incredulous face, not fully believing them, just yet. Dongmyeong braces himself for a charm offensive.

"Did you guys choose your shampoo yet?" Dongmyeong can physically feel his stomach drop to the floor as Yonghoon claps him and Giwook on their shoulders, gathering them under his arms like Dongmyeong sometimes like to imagine a big mother bird would, but now's literally not the time for caring, motherly metaphors; an appalled look has crept up the lady's face at the realisation of how blatantly he'd lied to her.

"Young man, your brothers should buy their shampoo from the men's section; try to make sure they grow up properly, won't you?" Harin walks around the corner just in time to hear that nugget of wisdom, basket perched jauntily on his hip and filled to the brim with junk food and candy.

The aunty hardly spares the basket a glance.

"Hmm? Their shampoo?" Yonghoon glances at the bland navy blue offerings on the opposite shelf.

"Well," Here, to Giwook and Dongmyeong's delight, Yonghoon reaches (hardly a reach given his wingspan, honestly) over to grab a bottle. "There's nothing here that says they have to use this shampoo? No laws or anything? I, for one, am satisfied as long as they are just clean."

It's a little delightful how befuddled this aunty is, in the face of such spirited opposition. "Men are supposed to use _this_ shampoo."

"Ma'am," Yonghoon clutches the boys a little closer, not that Dongmyeong had thought that was possible. "As long as they are clean, their mothers _don't care what they smell like_."

Giwook lifts a finger to make a point. "Actually, my mom recommended I try this brand. And they smell nicer that the other brands." The lady stares at him for a moment, mouth a little slack.

One more look to take them in; Harin, trying to sneak a bite of the rice cake that they've not paid for yet, Giwook with his piercings on full display, Yonghoon, tall and gangly and smiling so perfectly politely. Dongmyeong still has shimmer on his eyelids, from this morning when he'd thought to make his day a little more special.

The well-meaning-but-not-really aunty leaves grumbling under her breath.

"Well, that went well," Harin says, mouth full, shrugging as the three of them turn to admonish him, saying the clerk told him it was ok. Yonghoon takes a look at the lovestruck college kid craning her neck to catch a glimpse of Harin and sighs.

"Hey, which shampoo do you guys want?"

Yonghoon rolls his eyes, resting his full weight on Giwook and Dongmyeong, just to hear them squeal.

"Harin, get the one with roses for me, will you? And the conditioner too, I'm out of that. Which one are you getting?"

"I'mma get the mango one." Harin says around another mouthful of rice cake. "Smells like candy."

It's 3:30 in the morning now. Dongmyeong cannot wait to get home and actually shower the grime and dust and ache of the day off. Hyungu, for sure, is going to want to try all their shampoos. Maybe Dongmyeong will snitch a bit of his lilac and lavender, just for the sake of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you don't think the boys spend their time sniffing all the shampoo bottles before making a choice, you have not experienced shampoo and conditioner shopping at its best
> 
> if you read my other stuff i'm still writing, i'm just also experiencing the joys of award season voting. and mmm came back. good news is i have an outline for one of them.


	4. hyungu/yonghoon, gen, living legend

A song may start from any number of beginnings. A dream, a conversation with Giwook on stars and the endlessness of space. A riff off Harin's fingers, tapping on the nearest surface that gives off sound; the steering wheel of his mom's borrowed car or the varnished wood lining the studio. Late night scribblings and doodling with Dongmyeong.

But, inevitably, before or after there's bones and breath to the skeleton of the song, Hyungu always, always thinks of Yonghoon's siren voice, closes his eyes in the band room and imagines how it would,  _ should _ ,  _ could _ , sink and soar and fly away, weaving sinew and starlight together to give a body to the song.

To be sure, Yonghoon's voice is admirable. Everyone says so. One of the finest voices they've ever heard, say the producers, the directors. Hyungu will turn on stage and watch Dongmyeong's sparklingly wide eyes fixed on their lead singer.

Hyungu's not one to believe in hyperbole. Myths are one thing but when Yonghoon is living and breathing right next to him, annoying _ the living shit _ out of him, well, maybe it's natural to want to push the limits of Yonghoon's voice, perhaps, subconsciously, find the ends and bounds that surely must exist somewhere to make Yonghoon as human as everyone else.

In the studio, in the recording booth. Hyungu flips the intercom and requests that Yonghoon try a little higher, hold a note a little longer. He dreams up the craziest chords, pushes them to astronomical heights, so that they don't fly so much as they catapult through space and time like a doomed meteor.

Yonghoon rarely questions him, just nods, flashes a smile. Every time, Hyungu waits, with bated breath, for Giwook to fiddle with the settings.

Yonghoon takes a deep breath, and goes off, like a firework in the sky, like a phoenix taking wing, glorious and dazzling, before sinking low, almost growling along to the frenetic whine of the guitars, ending with a piercing high note that has him clenching his fists in his effort to sustain it and sends tingles down Hyungu's spine.

_ How was it _ , he asks afterwards, breathless.

Hyungu flips the intercom switch.  _ Pretty good _ , he says.


	5. harin-centric, gen, to build a home

On the day that the band gets their own room at RBW  _ (after all the signing and hand shaking and commemorative pictures and 'congratulations') _ , Harin gets called over by one of the senior producers, who introduces him to the 'junk room'.

Old equipment, outdated keyboards from the practice rooms. Amps and wires aplenty, all neatly coiled up and tied up with wires. Harin wonders if his version of heaven looks like this.

The producers explain that they rarely throw anything out, for fear of one day needing something.  _ Take what you need for your room. _

Harin hasn't put his drums in yet, Dongmyeong hasn't brought his keyboard in either. One of Hyungu's parents' friends has offered to give them their old couch; a lumpy green thing that Giwook loves for more than any real comfort it actually offers.

All of those things come in slowly, over several weeks; Yonghoon and Harin staggering through the door, twisting and wrestling the green couch until it's in the room.

They put up peg boards because Dongmyeong is adamant that they are essential to be able to decorate the room freely and no one really knows enough about interior decoration to dispute him. He proves to be right when they realise how easy it is to install small, lightweight shelves and hanging boxes for their router.

Harin chooses the sturdiest wires from the junk room, lines them up against the walls in neat bundles. He spends a good hour with Hyungu debating the layout of the room, a piece of paper between them outlining where the desks will be, the drums, the keyboard, the guitar rack, where the outlets are.

They get help installing the plexiglass dividers where the drums will be ( _ and now I am in jail _ , Harin jokes), these ones paid for by the company. There are invoices now, people to call when things in the room break. Healthcare. Insurance recommendations. The nice receptionist tells them to start saving for retirement early,  _ starting early is the best thing you can do for yourself _ .

One day, when they're taking a break, eating rice balls and stir-fried beef, Hyungu says, "It looks like a real band room, huh?" and it feels like he's saying,  _ we're a real band now. _

Now, Harin would disagree.  _ Real _ is relative, and in his eyes the band has been real from the day the skinny kid with big hands turned to him and a skinnier kid with quiet eyes and said _ I think we should form a band together _ , was made better with the addition of one smiley kid and made whole by the tall vocalist who smiled at them so kindly.

But he gets what Hyungu means. The band room is  _ theirs _ , theirs and the half dozen plush toys slowly colonizing the space, it seems. A home, an oasis, a refuge. A house for music. 


End file.
